


Anniversary

by 00AwkwardPenguin00



Series: Dragon of the Yuyan [16]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, an interlude, get y'all some tissues, sorry - Freeform, ummm.... this might be really sad?, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25069729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00AwkwardPenguin00/pseuds/00AwkwardPenguin00
Summary: Three years later.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Dragon of the Yuyan [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582384
Comments: 455
Kudos: 3277





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts).



> GUESS WHO'S BACK!! 
> 
> And I'm bringing the waterworks. All y'all asking about Iroh? Here ya go.

The old man wakes up just before sunrise, looks at the date, and knows that he’s not going to work today.

He does have to get up, though, if he wants everything to be ready before noon.

He heaves himself out of bed, performs his morning ablutions, then settles himself in front of his little shrine, placed beneath the single window of his little home. He is very lucky, for it faces the rising sun, which makes even bad days like today just a little easier to bear.

The old man pinches the wick of each meditation candle between his thumb and forefinger, and when he moves his fingers away, a steady red flame is left behind. He falls into meditation with the ease of decades of practice, feeling the warmth of his inner fire swell and shrink in time with his steady breaths. He can feel the four tiny flames on the candles in front of him doing the same, and feels his connection to them and to the Sun grow stronger as Agni’s light slowly fills his tiny window.

His mind and chi are settled and calm, but the sorrow remains. The old man knows that it will remain for the rest of his days.

The noise of the morning is a melody that has long faded into the background. The old man rises stiffly, and continues his morning routine, conditioning drills and stretches that ease the stiffness from his body, and then breakfast and the first few cups of tea of the day. Gingko, to prevent the calm of his meditations from being disturbed overmuch by the memories that today’s activities will stir. When the teapot is empty, he washes and dries it and his cup, and sets it out again on his small table with the box of dried ginseng root he would use to make his favorite tea. He will need the comfort, later, and the ease of access.

This task complete, the old man packs his basket, dons his straw hat, and leaves his home.

His route is meandering, and visits a hodgepodge of locations. A weapon-smith that works beautiful steel blades. A woodworker who carves and paints exquisite theater masks. A tiny, hidden pond inhabited by a family of turtleducks.

He meets people along his way, assists them however he can. The old man donates a handkerchief to a mother taken by surprise by her baby’s sudden soiled diaper. He settles a dispute between a young brother and sister, and watches in pleasure as they continue their game together. He provides a listening ear to an angsty young man as he discourses on all of the ways his parents are unfair and don’t understand.

He finally reaches his destination a few minutes before noon. At the base of the tree on top of the hill, he lays out a red cloth and arranges items from his basket upon it—an incense holder, two perfectly ripe plums, a tiny dish of fire-flakes, an eagle-hawk feather. A small stuffed pygmy puma. He carefully places an old and dog-eared pen and ink portrait of a young boy, his eyes bright and grin infectious, against the cloth-covered rock behind the items. The old man takes a pair of incense sticks and lights them between his thumb and forefinger before placing them in the holder.

“Hello, my nephew,” he murmurs. “I miss you.”

He spends the entire afternoon with his little makeshift shrine, reciting passages of various plays that the boy had enjoyed, singing songs he had sung to him as a fussy baby, telling him stories of things that had happened since the last time the old man had visited. He wants to stay until sunrise the next day, the way he should have the first time, but there are forces at work that will prevent this, so as Agni slowly lowers his eye, the old man repacks his basket and heads home.

It takes him much less time to return to his dwelling than it did to leave, and as he unlocks his door, he spots a folded piece of paper on the floor as he steps inside. He bends down and picks it up. He brews his tea and prepares his dinner, then sits at the table with his pot and cup and plate and chopsticks. He unfolds the paper, scans the contents.

His heart stops. His chi stutters.

_Zuko is alive._

Iroh weeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Next Week: **Occupation**


End file.
